


The taste that your lips allow

by guitarstrings



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guitarstrings/pseuds/guitarstrings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Trish’s lips taste sweet in just the right amount, and she tastes like hope, gentleness, understanding and basically everything good in the world. There isn’t any bitterness, and kissing Trish never feels like something sharp is piercing her the walls of her mouth and tongue." Post-season 1 finale, Jessica compares kissing Trish to drinking alcohol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The taste that your lips allow

**Author's Note:**

> Because I can't get these two out of my head. Also, because Ed Sheeran's Give Me Love sounds perfect for Jessica and Trish.

_All I want is the taste that your lips allow, my my, my my, give me love. My my, my my, give me love…_

_~Give Me Love, Ed Sheeran_  

* * *

 

It’s another day of heroics. Another day of helping people sort through their shit. _Hero._ Jessica scoffs at the word. Sure, because fucked-up alcoholics can be heroes. All these people calling and messaging her probably don’t know that. Hell, maybe they’ll change their minds about her the moment they find out that she treats liquor like water.

But for now, she’ll play the hero.

Alcohol was the only thing that got her through the day for six months before she found out that Kilgrave was still alive. And since she found out, she began doubling her intake. But she cut it down a little after having finally gotten rid of him once and for all, and the sense of normalcy has already begun to set in.

If, by normal, she means going back to Trish’s apartment after filling her hero quota for the day instead of her ruined one. Rubble still litters the floor, and she knows that it’s going to cost her a lot to fix up her place, and she has to admit, the hero thing _is_ raking in the money more than being just a private investigator. Though she still does that kind of work from time-to-time, in between breaking up fights, lifting cars and trucks from accidents, and other meaningless shit she could care less about.

Normal is different now. She’s spending time outside of four walls for most of the day instead of sitting inside her office and waiting for a call from a random New Yorker who needs her services. Mostly due to the fact that her phone won’t stop ringing and she has to resist the urge to put it in silent mode, or better yet, throw it against a hard surface to _really_ put a stop to everything.

If she didn’t need the money, she wouldn’t be doing any of this in the first place. Well, Trish and Malcolm had pushed her into this whole business, too.

 _Shit_ , is what she thinks when another call comes through her phone. Unknown number. Figures. She sighs and rejects the call, not feeling the least bit guilty for it at all. Trish would probably scold her if she’d seen the whole thing, her and her good heart.

Still, it’s nearing nine-thirty in the evening, and people shouldn’t expect that she’s going to do their dirty work for them twenty-four seven. For fuck’s sake, she might have superpowers but that didn’t include the ability to stay awake and alert for three-hundred and sixty-five days straight.

Plus it isn’t like she’s the only one in the city that can beat up criminals and save people. What good would the NYPD and the firemen be then? If she did all the work, the police would just be sitting on their lazy asses and not bother monitoring the city for less-than-savory people.

Maybe Trish won’t be mad at her, after all. In fact, she’ll probably be relieved that she’s actually taking the time to rest from all of this.

She hasn’t had a proper rest in months, and she’s sure that her face gives it away every time she’s with Trish. Nightmares, anxiety attacks, you name it. Which was why alcohol had been a necessity to knock her out and give her some time to sleep. Because otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to fend off the fears and nightmares on her own. 

Turning around the corner, she kicks the gravel and sends pieces flying in the opposite direction. She keeps walking, until she arrives at a small bar in the corner of the street. There are only a few people inside, which Jessica prefers. The lesser the people and the noise, the better. She goes in and sits by the counter, ordering the best and strongest whiskey that they offer.

There’s more than enough money that she earned this day to pay for drinks until she gets drunk or totally wasted, but that’s not what Jessica is looking for. It isn’t exactly a celebration more than it is a pity party for herself, for all the people that died during her hunt for Kilgrave and more so for Hope’s tragic death.

She’s never really been the celebrating type, and she’s sure that Trish would tell her that she should cut herself some slack and stop gutting herself over and over again for all those deaths. But she’s not Trish who tries to be optimistic about everything, and she’ll most likely feel twinges of guilt every now and then until the day that she dies.

As for proof? It’s already been a month since Jessica put an end to Kilgrave’s reign of terror and she _still_ feels frustrated over all those deaths.

Alcohol helped ease the guilt a little, until it came back full force when it isn’t in her system anymore. Sometimes she wonders if it’s even _blood_ that’s coursing through her veins, and not all the alcohol that she’s been drinking ever since she escaped Kilgrave’s clutches the first time, right after she thought that he died when that bus hit him.

So nearly every night, after she proclaims that her job is done for the day, she wallows in self-pity until she goes back to Trish’s apartment. And when she does, she opens up a little to Trish, and with the help of the alcohol, she gets through it.

The bartender sets the glass in front of her, and she chuckles darkly before tipping the glass over her lips and drowning it in one go. It tastes bitter, more so than usual when she’s feeling bitter herself. Of course, even if she drowns ten more shots, or twenty, or a hundred, the taste won’t change. It won’t turn sweet, no matter how much she drank and drank and drank.

She drinks a few more shots, or at least by her definition of _few_ , before she grabs her phone and turns it back on. There are innumerable missed calls from unknown numbers, and Jessica ignores all of those. She erases those numbers and messages from her log, until she’s left with the ones from Trish.

There are fourteen missed calls from Trish and seven new messages, and Jessica snorts and smiles a little at this. Typical of Trish to be concerned about her, despite her superhuman strength. But at least the one person she cares about cares just as much about her, and for Jessica, that’s more than enough to get her through her shitty life.

With a sigh, she presses on Trish’s name and hits the call button. It doesn’t take more than three rings before Trish picks up, and Jessica greets her with a muttered ‘hello’.

_“Jess, where are you? I’ve been waiting for you to call me back.”_

Jessica drains another shot before she answers. “I’m in a bar. Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be there soon.”

_“Drinking again, huh?”_

Trish’s voice is soft, gentle, and it makes Jessica ache all over. How Trish can be so understanding and patient with a fuck-up like her, she’ll never know. Most people would berate her for turning to alcohol with every problem that she faced, but never with Trish. She’s everything that Jessica isn’t.

She doesn’t answer, because she knows that Trish knows the answer to that question anyway.

_“Come back when you’re ready, okay? I’ll leave the balcony door open for you.”_

Christ, this is the woman that loves her back, despite her obviously flawed and damaged self. And here she is, opting to drown in alcohol and the black hole that she created within herself instead of choosing to be with Trish. She might not be life-threatening anymore, but she sure as hell was self-destructive.

God help her.

Jessica takes a deep breath and scrambles out of her seat. “I’m on my way, Trish.”

_“Okay. Take care, alright?”_

Despite her somber mood, Jessica smiles a little. Unlike the people who have been bugging her for help, Trish still sees the human side of her; treating her with gentle regard even though she’s far stronger than any ordinary person. But even with that, Trish is understanding enough not to treat her like she can break completely with just the touch of a finger.

Trish is the only person who understands that while she’s strong, some parts of her are also weak.

“I will.”

The words hang in the air for a few seconds as Jessica debates whether to add three more words before she drops the call. For the love of all things that are shitty, why is it still so difficult for her to tell Trish that she loves her out loud? She’s said it before she snapped Kilgrave’s neck, so why can’t she say it now?

Trish seems to understand her struggle though, as she whispers a quiet ‘see you soon’ before the call ends.

Jessica growls in frustration and strides out of the bar, punching the first brick wall that she sees when she makes it outside. She breaks into a run, hoping to clear her head as she heads towards the direction of Trish’s apartment building. It isn’t that far, so she runs faster while ignoring the people around her.

When she arrives, she sweeps her surroundings with her eyes, making sure that no one would witness what she’s about to do. Seeing that the place is devoid of people except for her, she bends her knees and _jumps_ until she reaches Trish’s balcony.

She likes the rush it gives her, and she feels like she’s flying every time she does it. Not that she’s _actually_ flying, but it still feels nice and freeing, in a way. The air whipping against her face and the lapels of her jacket flapping around her sides, the way her feet kick the ground as she launches herself upwards, higher and higher until she lands on solid surface again.

Maybe she’ll try jumping across the roofs of the buildings one day, with Trish on her back.

A satisfied smile crosses her features as she lands right on Trish’s balcony, and inside, she can see the blonde sitting on the couch and watching TV. Possibly watching news about her ‘heroic deeds’ or something across those lines. She rolls her eyes and snorts, then pushes the door open.

Trish hears her go in, and she turns off the TV and walks towards Jessica.

“Hey,” Trish says tentatively, reaching out a hand to touch Jessica’s chest.

It ignites a spark, a big one, that’s trying its damndest to fend off the black hole that she subconsciously created within her.

“Hey,” Jessica nods, and Trish flashes a smile at her.

But Jessica isn’t blind. She can see the crease in Trish’s forehead and how her eyes shine with worry.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Trish asks as she leads Jessica to the couch.

Taking a deep breath, Jessica sits down beside Trish and locks her jaw. The taste of the alcohol still lingers on her tongue, but she doesn’t dwell much on it because Trish is beside her. Jessica releases a sigh, and Trish doesn’t push her for answers.

Instead, Trish moves closer to Jessica and rests her head against her chest, breathing silently as she takes Jessica’s hand in hers and locks their fingers together.

It’s then that the weariness starts to set in, but Jessica doesn’t move away from Trish. She welcomes Trish’s warmth, how her body is so close to her own.

To think, one fatal mistake and it would have cost Jessica her entire world – Trish.

“Maybe tomorrow,” she says, feeling Trish nod against her chest.

“You do know you can drink here, right?” Trish asks, moving her head so that she was looking up at Jessica.

Hesitantly, Jessica threads her fingers through Trish’s hair, feeling its softness under her skin. She thinks it’s a little awkward, what she’s doing right now, not being used to showing her affection. But with Trish, she can try this.

“I don’t want to make a mess of your squeaky clean apartment,” Jessica answers dismissively with a shrug. “I mean, look at it. Do you even want empty bottles just lying around?”

Trish laughs and pats her cheek. “Well, at least I know that you’re fine, even if not completely. And hey, if it makes you feel any better, then it’s fine with me.”

“You’re just saying that, but you’re going to regret it if it happens,” Jessica scoffs.

“Not true,” Trish whispers, and before Jessica can respond, there’s already a pair of lips covering her own.

Of course she knows the _real_ reason why Trish would offer her apartment as a dumpster for empty liquor bottles, but it’s more in her nature to mess around and offer sarcastic comments rather than spit out what she really feels. She knows that Trish understands that too, and she’s pretty much sure that they’re both alright despite their opposite personalities.

Why else would Trish put up with someone like her?

The bitter taste of the alcohol is gone, replaced by Trish’s own unique taste.

Trish’s lips taste sweet in just the right amount, and she tastes like hope, gentleness, understanding and basically everything good in the world. There isn’t any bitterness, and kissing Trish never feels like something sharp is piercing her the walls of her mouth and tongue.

Best of all, Trish tastes like _home and love_ , and Jessica doesn’t mind kissing her every chance that she gets if it will always feel like this. So Jessica allows herself to completely drown in the kiss, in everything that Trish has to offer her.

If she could have her way, she would choose to taste Trish every second of every day.


End file.
